Aphelion
by AmhFluffy
Summary: The point in the Earth's orbit when it is farthest from the sun.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own Twilight.

* * *

All of this filth, this trash. The world is utterly drowned in the disgusting leavings of evolution.

Homo-Sapiens, they call themselves. Descendants of Neanderthals and children of the earth. Humans.

Despicable.

Terribly, deeply so.

Another falls and is left bleeding. The thick blood that fuels them has very little hold on me now.

Who next?

Jaws, they call me in their petty newspapers. Journalists compete for a chance to report on the newest set of jagged wounds left by my teeth.

A pleasure killer. How laughable.

I do none of this for pleasure. I would have been a burning pyre in the Volterra main square decades ago if I hadn't realized in time.

If I hadn't heard that boy's thoughts.

"_Well, at least she's not with Edward anymore."_

Mike Newton was the first.

No logic would have stopped me in those first few months. No plea or cry for help would dissuade me from cleaning up the scum that litters the surface of the earth. My charitable disposal of those foul creatures, who **dared** to exist when she could not, began in Forks.

That small, rainy town is renown now as the birthing ground of the worst criminal of the twenty-first century.

No, no reason would have dissuaded me from continuing. The knowledge that Mike Newton was ignorant of the reasons behind Bella's swift departure from Forks –from our plane of existence-, does not deter me, even now. I am rather grateful to that confused – now rotting – school boy.

For if it wasn't for that misguided thought, my eyes would have remained closed to the disaster that was humanity.

It's hunting season in Washington.


	2. Chapter 2

I do not own Twilight.

* * *

'_How did I get here?'_

A dark alley stretched before me, I was walking.

Brick walls, that classic rusty colour, and black asphalt. I stepped around a puddle of what I hoped but doubted was water. I decided to continue walking, searching for a turning, expecting to reach the end of the path soon. Hopefully not a dead-end. Literally and figuratively, that sounded unpleasant.

This continued for what seemed like several minutes, interspersed with the wary avoidance of garbage that could well have sprouted legs and walked away, and the nervous snapping of my fingers.

Something disturbingly like laughter echoed through the space. My heart jumped in my chest and I felt like water was trickling down my back, flowing under the collar of the button-up and turning my skin to ice.

"Who's there?" If my cracking voice was any indication of what I was feeling, I was afraid. Deathly afraid.

When no answer came, I sped up, glancing over my shoulders and scanning the rows upon rows of brick for a way out.

My low heels were, for the moment, the only sound I could hear, the muffled clicking of wood on asphalt almost inaudible, swallowed up by the darkness that invaded my senses. It was closing in, entwining my fingers like a hand held tightly.

I tugged them to myself and wrung them together, spinning the friendship ring Anna had given me on my last birthday. The terror of the dark seemed insignificant when compared to the comforting texture of friendship, the blocky letters LYM - our own inside joke – inscribed in the silver.

I would have smiled at the memories if the laughter hadn't sounded in my left ear.

Whoever - whatever - it was, they were far, far too close for comfort.

I swallowed hard and could feel my pulse in my fingertips, tightly wound together against the dark.

'_Oh, God help me.'_

I licked my lips and cleared my throat, making my intentions clear to the most likely deserted alleyway.

"Is that all you can do?" I struggled to keep my voice level as I turned slowly, a full 180 degrees, punctuated with one question. "Laugh?"

To my frustration and equal parts relief and terror, there was nothing – no one – behind me, just a thick curtain of black, further dampening my senses. Another laugh, in front of me this time. A tick developed in my right eye, even as my heart raced in my ears.

My eyes narrowed, and my voice was raised in irritation.

"Seriously! If you are going to," I stumbled, "if you're planning on mugging me or… or _killing_ me, at least do it like… like a man. Face me, you coward!"

I felt like banging my head against the brick wall next to me_._

'_Sure, go ahead and _**tell **_him to kill you! If he wasn't thinking of it before, well at least now he has options. You utter moron! You should have told him to go away. Told him you were a black belt, or something, anything other than that. Idiot.'_

At least it made the laughter stop, apparently cut short after my outburst.

'_He's probably either seriously considering your suggestions or seriously questioning your sanity.'_

I was standing there, waiting for a response, waiting for something to happen when I heard footsteps. The steady and soft padding of feet, getting louder. Through widened eyes I pinpointed the place I thought the sound was coming from. In front and to the right of me, as far as I could tell.

Crossing my arms in front of me, gripping my upper arms tightly and undoubtedly wrinkling the grey sleeves, I tried to not look like I was hugging myself for comfort. I wasn't sure if I succeeded, and I couldn't have cared less at that moment.

A lone figure stepped seemingly out of the darkness of the wall to the right. Had I missed a possible turn? Even if that proved my lack of observational skills, I was rather glad that I hadn't walked straight into this person.

A hood hid his face, and his hands were shoved deep into the front pockets of his loose white jacket. I convinced myself that the stain on what cuff we could see was paint or ketchup or something. Painters and diners alike always wandered around at night, laughing at young women and following them, didn't they?

That theory wasn't working out so well, as what I had wished was a reasonable individual brought out a knife and flicked it open. It shone red in the dim light of the alley.

'_Well…crap.'_


	3. Chapter 3

I do not own Twilight.

* * *

The doorbell's shrill tone woke Nina with a start. Her head shot up from the keyboard, only to smack against the desk lamp as she tried to stand; the plastic wheel of her chair rolled over her toes. Some choice words were drowned out by the bell as it continued to play the opening number of Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho at max volume across the house.

_God, I should never have let Theo in, let alone allowed him to 'fix' my doorbell._

While massaging the growing knot in the back of her head and grumbling about brothers and horror films, Nina pushed her pride and joy – her swivel chair – away from her work desk and spun around towards the hallway. After extricating herself from her chair's fluffy comfort, Nina padded her way towards the front door. Soon she reached her goal and, after checking to make sure she was wearing pants, she turned the handle and swiftly pulled the door open until the chain creaked in protest.

"_What?_" the visible portion of her face spat at whatever fool that had disturbed her sleep.

"Well, good morning to you, too, Ms. Sanders!" A far too cheerful voice exclaimed, "Or should I say, good afternoon?"

Nina squinted through the, admittedly, mid-afternoon light to stare up at her new coworker, Ross, and deadpanned.

"Neither."

She slammed the door, slid the chain out of its slot and pulled the door ajar before spinning on her slippered heel to head to the kitchen and find herself some coffee. She heard Ross enter hesitantly and close the door behind him.

Nina grabbed her favorite mug, the one with the cow staring up from the bottom, and filled it with her cheap instant coffee, glancing back at Ross, "They sent you to me. What did you do?"

He grinned sheepishly, running his hand through his short mousy brown hair, "Jammed the copier."

She tutted and tsked in between sips. "Bad bad… Floss, was it?"

Ross stared blankly at her for a moment at the seeming non sequitur before it dawned on him to be offended. He spluttered but recovered admirably before correcting her.

"Ross, m'am. Ross Jakobson, pleased to meet you." The fool gave Nina a lopsided grin as she regarded his proffered hand with obvious distaste.

Without a word, Nina turned smoothly on her slippered heel and stepped back through the connecting doorway into her office. The swivel chair beckoned.

Once situated in her chair, she used what friction that could be found on the roller mat to pull the chair back towards the doorway. She peeked in and gestured for Ross to enter with a crooked finger from the hand not otherwise occupied by coffee, before pushing on the door jam to roll freely back to her desk. "You wouldn't be here if the boss-man didn't have a story for me, Mr. Jakob_stone_. Care to share with the class?"

For a moment, Ross seemed conflicted, but he quickly dismissed the misnomer with - once again - sickeningly good humor for such an early hour.

"Yes, well, it's a story that's already been done quite a few times, though not by us, and Mr. Wright just thought it needed a fresh perspective. You probably wouldn't be interested." That stupid grin, again.

Nina rolled her eyes at the failed attempt at reverse psychology and focused her attention on the computer monitor.

"_jka;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;"_

She glanced at the page number, "_42/42"_ and sighed. Clicking the bar on the side, Nina scrolled up through thirty pages of unintentional dribble until she reached her article. As she scanned the pages, Ross continued to babble.

"– but, I mean, it's _the_ **Jaws**…"

Nina froze.


End file.
